The Best Men Don't Run For President
by Johnny Superfecta
Summary: A weary Lex Luthor reminisces in the Oval Office.
1. Trap Play

Notes: I lifted the title from _The Running Man_. This story might go on for a while, I think.**  
**

**The Best Men Don't Run For President, They Run For Their Lives**

"Sir?"

Lex looked up from the massive desk--he'd been dozing. What had he been dreaming about? Something from long ago in Smallville; but now it was gone.. "Yes, Martina?"

"The Super Bowl champions are here," said the matronly woman who served as his personal assistant, and looked at him pityingly, knowing how he felt about these things. Oh no, he thought. No. Not another idiotic photo-op. I won't do another, not this time. I could cancel--pick up the red telephone hot-line, say I was having an urgent discussion with Moscow...

"Send them in," he said tiredly, and slowly stood up. No point in putting it off, really. Now, which team had won, anyway? Coast City? Gotham? He struggled to remember, and failed. The door opened and a train of burly men in suits poured into the Oval Office, along with their coach, a wizened Texan. The ubiquitous photographers followed in their wake.

The white-haired old football coach strode up to Lex and extended his hand, which Lex took; the man now pumped it eagerly, saying, "My boys and I are pleased as punch to meet you, Mr. President, and I mean that. Now I bet you didn't know that I coached for your pappy when he owned the Sharks--best owner a fella could ask for. Why, one time after a tough loss he came down to the locker room himself and..." Lex nodded as the man rattled on--he hoped the smile he was wearing didn't look too glazed.

Lex hated football--he sold the Sharks as soon as Lionel died. He had only ever paid attention to the sport once, for a single season, and that had been at the high-school level, the year that Clark Kent had led the Smallville Crows to the Kansas state championship. He still had film of him quarterbacking the team, somewhere in the library at the Luthor mansion. Film, not the digitized video which never did Clark justice, though he certainly had countless hours of that as well.

His father owned the Metropolis Sharks for some years, but his only fond memory of the Luthors' time as football-team owners was of the game he and Clark had watched together from the owner's box, early on in their friendship. They'd ridden to the stadium in Lex's limousine one Sunday afternoon in November; a chill was in the air, but they wouldn't feel it inside the domed stadium. "Football should be played out in the elements!" Clark had complained good-naturedly on the ride there... .

-------

The limousine had gotten snarled in traffic outside the stadium, and they were a little behind schedule. "Come on, come on--we're going to miss the kickoff!" Clark said with a look back at Lex, after bursting out of the elevator--he was hopping about agitatedly, and Lex couldn't help but laugh.

"All right," he said, and broke into a jog. They went down the corridor past the other luxury boxes until they came to Lionel Luthor's, and Lex opened the door. It was an opulent room, furnished for entertaining the high and mighty. Ordinarily when in use it was fully staffed by servers and bartenders, but not today, on Lex's orders. A table full of food and a fridge full of drinks had been provided, though. Clark ignored all this and ran to the viewing area. a bank of seats facing the field. The room could be sealed off from the stadium by a plexiglass partition; it wasn't, and the anticipatory noise from the crowd filled the room. Just as he got there, the Sharks' kicker drove the ball off a tee into the opposite end zone, where one of the Edge City Catamounts caught it and ran, only to be swarmed by Sharks tacklers at the eighteen-yard-line.

"Holy cow--this is awesome!" cried Clark. Lex ate a crab puff, then picked up a couple of sodas and brought them over to the seats. A packed, roaring stadium lay before them. Lex sat down.

"Lex, this is amazing; I know I already thanked you--"

"Really, Clark, you're welcome."

The crowd groaned as the home team were penalized for unsportsmanlike conduct following a shoving match involving a crowd of players. Clark turned and asked, "So, despite you bringing me here today, I get the idea that you aren't the world's biggest football fan--do you get what's going on here, the point of the game and all?"

Lex laughed. "That's an astute observation, Clark--I admit I have no real love for the gridiron. My father, though, has brought me along to a number of games here, usually when he was entertaining important clients or dignitaries. And he insisted I learn the game, if not actually play it. He said, 'Lex, Americans want leaders with the common touch, and there's nothing more common than football.'"

Clark frowned at that, and Lex added, "But that's my father's opinion. I'll keep an open mind, and perhaps you'll make a Sharks fan of me yet."

"Yeah, maybe. I suppose I'd better; it'll be your team someday."

The game marched on. Food and drink were consumed; conversation was engaged in, about Lana, and Lionel, and a little about football. ("A flea-flicker!" Clark had shouted delightedly as the Sharks ran a trick play, which then engendered a discussion of football terminology.) Toward the end of the half, with the score tied at seven apiece, Edge City punted. The Sharks' fastest man, who happened to be the fastest player in the league (Lionel himself had shaken his hand for the cameras at the press conference where the team had unveiled him as a high-priced free agent) caught the ball on the run, hurdled a tackler, picked up a block, and was gone, streaking down the sidelines with no one in front of him. Then something extraordinary happened, something Lex thought about for a long time afterwards.

He had been watching the player sprint toward the end zone--remarkable speed, really. Suddenly there was a blur and the next thing he knew he and Clark were on the floor, and the back of Lex's seat had been blown apart. "A sniper!" he said to Lex, looking shocked. "In the luxury box right across from us." Concrete extended two feet up the floor--they were safe for now. Lex, recovering his wits, reached into his jacket pocket for his cell-phone.

As it turned out, the gunman had fled after firing, not even waiting to see if he'd hit the target. He was soon picked up by stadium security (they would have picked him up, even without Lex's call--he had been running down the concourses when he crashed into a fully-loaded beer vendor, with whom he then got into a fistfight). Of course, they found out later that the man had been ruined by Lionel in some past deal, and sought revenge by murdering his son. Lex dryly commented to Clark that his father could start a blood feud in an empty room.

The game was unaffected (no one had even heard the shot), though the two missed most of the second half talking to the police, who had taped off the owner's box as a crime scene. On the ride home, Lex remarked, "Well, I don't know what to say--you've saved my life again, Clark. How on earth am I going to repay you now?"

He grinned. "No need--it's only good manners to push your host out of the path of a sniper's bullet, after he's been nice enough to invite you out to watch the big game."

"Well, you're certainly a well-mannered guest. But how did you do it? By all rights, I should have a bullet in me--the crowd was screaming, and everyone was watching the man racing down the field for a touchdown; everyone but you.."

Clark hesitated, then, "I saw something out of the corner of my eye, in the empty box, maybe a gleam off of the rifle. Then I just...had a feeling what it was. Call it a sixth sense."

He had looked uncomfortable for a moment, but then brightened. "You know, if you really want to repay me; you can come and watch the Super Bowl at the farm, with me and my dad."

"Done," he agreed with a laugh. He hadn't been able to make it, though. Something had called him away at the last minute, what was it? Oh yes, Lionel had ordered him to Metropolis to quell some LuthorCorp crisis, but when he got there, he found it wasn't really anything that required his personal attention.  
------------

"...and both my wife and I voted for you last November--she's a great admirer of yours..." Was this old coot still talking? It wasn't supposed to be this way, being the most powerful man in the world. He should be in the situation room, viewing images from spy satellites and barking out orders to generals in far-off places. At the very least, he ought to be in a fraught cabinet meeting, working on some bold new piece of legislation to ram through Congress.

But that wasn't the case--it was almost never the case. Talking to a football team! He had tried to abolish these stupid wastes of time when he had taken office. From now on the Presidency would be all business, he told his people--cut out the fluff, and that's an order from your President. "But sir," they had mewled. The public wanted to see its leader shaking hands with hockey players and Girl Scouts--and he had to keep his approval rating up. An unpopular President couldn't get things done; just play the game, they said, do the necessary spadework that has to be done if you want to be an effective leader. And he had given in, after a brief show of resistance, he had made yet another compromise--where had his legendary strength of will gone? It must have ebbed away in the campaign--he had already had to make so many compromises, say so many stupid things he didn't actually believe in all through the primaries and the run-up to the election. It had taken too much out of him. He had what he had been working towards his whole life, though--he was at the pinnacle of power.

He even had the First Lady he had always dreamed about--the beautiful and popular Mrs Lana Luthor. Whatever the press wrote about him, she was their darling, and probably the most beloved woman in the country. But, oh, if they only knew...


	2. First Lady

**The Best Men Don't Run For President, They Run For Their Lives**

"...and I said, 'Boys, play this game like it'll be your last, because for many of you, it will be,' and I'll be damned if they didn't go out there and win one for their old coach..." Lex eyed the man he was talking to, or rather, being talked at by. A tan, spry-looking senior citizen, he had achieved the top honor in his field of pro football. Lex had done the same in his field, politics, but he wasn't nearly as satisfied as this garrulous old gentleman. It might've been different than this, he thought. It should have, really. With Lana Lang by my side, I should have had the world at my feet by now--what went wrong?

Nothing, on the surface. He was a two-term President; Lana was beautiful and charming, the most popular First Lady since Jackie Kennedy, and perhaps his top political asset. The reality was different--lift up the sturdy block of granite that was their lives, and you would find nasty slimy things wriggling in the soil beneath. Why, just this morning, before she left for California...

-------

They were in the residence of the White House, in the bedroom. The two of them still slept in the same bed, to keep up appearances, but it was a very large bed, and two people who couldn't stand each other could keep to themselves quite comfortably in it. Lex went into the bathroom and lathered up for a shave, although he'd been toying with the idea of growing a beard. He was capable of it--only the hair on his head had been affected by the meteors, perhaps because the facial-hair follicles weren't active at that point in his development. And he liked the look of those old-time bearded Presidents in the portraits he saw every day in the White House; plus, it would enrage Lana. "You look like a hobo!" she would screech. "You'll be a laughingstock, and me along with you..." He chuckled. Yes, perhaps he would, on his next retreat to Camp David.

Lana and her assistant were in the other room, going over the itinerary for her trip. The assistant left, and Lana called out, "What on earth are you laughing about in there? And don't even think about ducking out of that photo-op with the football team--I know you are, even now, but don't do it. People adore that sort of garbage." She managed his image ruthlessly, even now, with his final election campaign behind him. Why? Well, his chief of staff had gotten a line on something, done some digging, and there it was--she was quietly putting a team together and sounding out donors for a political run of own, when his term was over. In the senate, most likely. But why keep it secret from him? He would support her--he'd have to, she knew where the bodies were buried. Almost all of them.

"They adore you, too," he muttered.

"What's that?"

"Did you see the front page of the Planet today?" he asked, covering.

She came to the doorway to the bathroom. "No, I did not. I don't normally read that newspaper. Was there something in it today that would interest me?" He looked at her--her eyes glittered dangerously. Careful, Lex.

"A good story by their top investigative reporting team. Real hard-hitting stuff--the subject matter's a little dry, perhaps, but they make it readable. It isn't very good for me, I'm afraid; seems they've uncovered serious discrepancies in the budget--massive sums diverted toward secret projects, and so on." It was a nice bit of journalism, and completely accurate. Secret projects were the only way he could ever get anything done at all, and they often cost a great deal of money. But it was in the country's best interests. Mostly. "Those two are a wonder, I tell you; how do they ferret out these things? Should I begin a leak investigation, do you think? " He knew he shouldn't bait Lana like this, but he was feeling fatalistic, a not-uncommon feeling of late.

Lana had been looking angrier and angrier as he talked, and spat out, "Oh, so they're on to another of your fuck-ups, are they, Lex? Then this is just another thing I'll have to go and smooth over for you." She really was remarkably good at that; he marveled at her ability to make his shady manipulations seem like clever and patriotic governance to the public. "When I married you, I thought that, at the very least, I could rely on you to be competent." She paused, then added, "That bitch is behind it, no doubt; Clark just trails along in her wake."

"Well, they're a good team, whichever way you slice it. I don't think this will win them a second Pulitzer, though, not on its own, anyway." He was just finishing the shave, doing the tricky bits under the jawline.

She glared at him, "Clark and _I_ would've been a better team--I should've married him, not you. You're a failure." That seemed a bit harsh to him--he was the President. "Why don't you hamstring them, shut them down, wreck the paper somehow--you could do it, I'm sure. Your father would've done it without blinking. Or you could do something more subtle--that used to be your strong suit, subtlety. If Chloe Sullivan were to have an accident..." She trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

Lex was through in the bathroom--he patted on some aftershave and turned to his wife. "I don't want to hear any more talk like that. Now, have a good time out west, _darling_." He edged past her and off into another room, noting that she still couldn't bear to use Chloe's married name. As he dressed, he mused that Lana might have gained the contacts to make something happen without him, and that he should have his people keep a closer eye on her than usual.

-------

The coach had finally run out of steam and receded into the background; Lex was now smiling and shaking hands with the star quarterback--the photographers snapped away furiously, this was the shot they'd come for. "Pleasure to meet you, sir," the young man mumbled shyly. Lex nodded. This was taking forever, but it was really just eating into whatever pointless appointment or function he had next on his schedule. Was he meeting with the ambassadors from Scandinavia today, or was that later this week? He grinned mindlessly for the cameras as he made small talk with the quarterback--he was quite a specimen, with a 'golden arm', they said, but he felt sure that Clark could still out-throw and out-run him, even as he approached forty years of age. Very sure.

That morning, Lana had said she should've married Clark (a frequent jibe--she knew it would sting him), but that wasn't an entirely accurate depiction of the way things were at the time. Clark had broken up with _her_--he said their relationship had run its natural course, but it soon became abundantly clear that he was in love with someone else. A heartbroken Lana had turned to her closest friend, an up-and-coming state senator. They dated for some time, and then, after he was elected Governor of Kansas (_that _campaign had been a snap; the Luthors had the state in their pocket), at the inaugural ball in Topeka...

-------

"...and I promise that things are about to get better in the great state of Kansas!" Lex finished his speech and left the dais to a roar of applause. He cut a path through a crowd of people, shaking hands left and right, until he found her.

"Governor Luthor," she said demurely, with a small smile. She had never looked lovelier to him.

He laughed. "That's me. Care to dance?." She held out her hand and he led her out onto the dance floor as the band began to play. Flashes went off--they made a striking couple, and these pictures would run in every paper in the midwest.

It was a wonderful night, maybe the best of his life. After dinner, the two of them slipped away into a an anteroom for a breather.

"I feel like there's no limit to what I can accomplish now, Lana. I'm so glad you're here to share this with me."

"Of course; how could I have missed it? But Topeka--really; Lex, you're governor now, can't you move the capital to Metropolis?" she kidded him.

"Ah, but I ran on a platform of fiscal responsibility, and it would cost far too much to move the governor's mansion and the legislature. And this isn't such a bad place, really; I was actually hoping you might consider moving here." He pulled a box out of his jacket, opened it, and asked quietly, "Lana, will you marry me?"

He stayed perfectly still, as his insides churned. She didn't look surprised, just thoughtful. Then: "Yes, Lex, I will." He took her in his arms and thought, I've done it. Lana, the finest person I know, and the only person I trust, will be my wife. He suddenly remembered his father saying to him several years ago, "...and that's why Lana Lang will never love you, son," but the old man was wrong, for once.

------

She _had_ loved him, he felt reasonably confident of that, and things had been good for a while. But she had turned mean--she had curdled. Was it power, corrupting as in the old adage? Was it seeing Clark's growing success and happiness without her, over the years? Or was it him, Lex Luthor--Lionel had told him that the people closest to him would know what was truly in his heart... Perhaps it wasn't anything, perhaps it always would have turned out like this; the seeds of the person she would become were sown the day of the meteor shower. And had Clark sensed it? No; he wasn't that perceptive, he had just fallen in love with Chloe. Lex wished he could talk to his old friend about this, and other things.

The football team was trooping out of the room, at last. He smiled and waved, as they left, until everyone was gone but Martina, his assistant. "You've got," she checked her watch, "nine minutes before the ambassadors from Scandinavia arrive." She held out a briefing paper on the meeting.

"Cancel it," he said, returning to his chair.

"Mr. President--"

"I'm deadly serious," and she saw that he was. "Tell my esteemed chief of staff to put someone else on it. Have Helen direct them to The Vice-President--he'll go over well with them." That might even be true; regardless, Lex needed a rest.


	3. Whistle Stop

Notes: I meant to keep this story ticking along on a regular schedule, but illness slowed me down. Oh, and I started writing it when "Lexmas" was the most-recent new episode, so that's where the continuity with the show ends. 

**The Best Men Don't Run For President, They Run For Their Lives**

The Oval Office was quiet at last, emptied of excited athletes. Lex poured himself a drink from the same wet bar that used to be in his study back at the Luthor mansion. To his amusement, visiting heads of state and other dignitaries were served drinks out of the same decanters that his father had once drugged to make people think Lex had gone insane. He smiled wryly at the memory--that had been one of the old man's better plots. He sat down and stared into space for minute or two. Then he reached out and opened a desk drawer, pulling out a framed photograph. He was feeling sentimental all of sudden, and somewhat contemptuous of himself for feeling that way. The picture was a shot of himself, Lana, Clark, and Chloe at the Talon, taken more than twenty years earlier, by a reluctant Pete Ross. They hadn't gotten along very well in those days, he and Pete, but they had a fine working relationship now--they might even be friends. Someone had once said, famously, that "the Vice-Presidency isn't worth a pitcher of warm spit" but that hadn't been the case these past six years.

The last time he had been in Smallville was during the re-election campaign--Pete was campaigning separately on the east coast, at the time. Lex had insisted on spending a day and a night in town--ostensibly to deliver a speech and firm up his support, but really just to see the place. He hardly needed to bother with Kansas, politically; he'd taken it in a landslide the first time around. It was October, the town was ablaze with color, his motorcade had rolled through the streets to the auditorium, and on his way up to the podium he had spotted her...

--------

He nodded at her in recognition, pleased and surprised, as he continued smiling and waving to the arena full of cheering Smallville residents. They loved him--he truly was their favorite son now, which was so different from when he first arrived here. When the applause died down, he delivered a variation on his standard speech, with a few hometown references thrown in to connect with the crowd--they ate it up, of course. He departed to further rapturous applause and when he got backstage, immediately told one of his agents to find the grey-haired woman and ask her if she'd meet with him, here in the back.

He was sitting on a folding chair, drinking from a water bottle and mopping his brow with a handkerchief when she came in. He rose to greet her.

"Hello, Martha."

"It's good to see you, Lex--I mean, Mr. President." She smiled.

He waved his hand in dismissal of the formality. "Please; no titles. And sit down, won't you?" She did. He continued, "I'm surprised to see you here--your son is one of my biggest critics."

"Yes, he is," she said with a sad smile. "And I've just finished his book." Clark and Chloe had gotten a book deal and published a highly critical examination of his first three years as President, which had come out now, at the height of the campaign. He'd been cruising to what looked like an easy win over weak opposition, but that had changed with its publication. "I still wanted to see you," she finished. Clark must not have told her everything he knew about him, he thought, the things they couldn't put in the book because there was no hard evidence. Perhaps he'd wanted to spare her feelings.

"Well, I'm glad you came," he said.

"How is Lana?" she asked. "I don't get to see her anymore."

"Lana's fine; I'll tell her you asked about her, she'll be pleased." He actually didn't know what would please Lana, but this likely wouldn't do it. "Are you still at the farm?" he asked, knowing that she was; he kept close tabs on the few remaining people he cared about.

"Yes; I sold off most of the land to a neighbour but I still live in the house--it's the same as you would remember it." Lex wished he could come and see it, but that was quite impossible. "Now, how are you, Lex? You look tired." He was tired. She had real concern in her eyes, and he felt something loosen inside. He clamped down hard on it and put on a confident, relaxed smile.

"I'm great. I've got everything I ever wanted, Martha--my life turned out exactly the way I hoped it would. And how are you? I hope you don't get lonely here by yourself."

"No--I have friends, and I keep busy. And Clark and Chloe come down every other weekend or so." Yes, of course they do. Why wouldn't they?

She reached into her large handbag, and the Secret Service agents took a few steps forward before Lex halted them with a gesture. She pulled out a tinfoil-wrapped bundle and handed it to him.

"I hoped I'd be able to get in and see you today--I made you some cookies. Oatmeal raisin. With the finest chefs attending to your meals, I thought you might like something a bit homelier, and made with love." She stood up to go, and he rose as well. "Take care of yourself, Lex," she said, and hugged him. She turned and departed without a look back. Lex watched her go, then unwrapped the cookies and ate one. It was still a little warm.

----------

The candidate stopping at the small-town diner or coffee shop to meet the electorate up close is a classic scene in any campaign. It's an even more natural move when it's the candidate's own cafe, albeit one that's currently held in a blind trust. Lex's limousine pulled up outside the Talon following the rally; he stepped out onto the sidewalk, flanked by agents, and looked up at the old marquee, which read, "WE WELCOME SMALLVILLE'S OWN PRESIDENT LUTHOR!" Well, that was nice of her, if a touch unexpected, he thought as he walked in.

Same old Talon, he mused. People in Smallville liked continuity, and the decor was still the same scheme Lana had dreamed up more than two decades before. If they were waiting for her to come back and change it, they were out of luck--"Why would I want to visit that dungheap?" was her response when he'd asked her if she wanted to come with him on this visit to her hometown. He shook hands with coffee-drinking patrons while spreading some of his still-formidable charm about.

After a little while he approached the counter. "Hello, Lois," he said to the long-time manager.of his most-prized piece of the Luthor business empire.

"Hello, Lex." she replied. No 'Mr. President' for her.

"I appreciate your support--the marquee was your doing, yes?"

"Oh, that's just good business--Smallville loves its President Lex. Me, I'm still an undecided voter."

He leaned in and said softly, "Well, I'd love to catch up later--perhaps you could come by the hotel tonight? And I'd certainly appreciate the chance to convince you of my merits--as a candidate."

Lois laughed.

----------

Lex sat on the edge of the king-sized bed in his hotel suite, watching the late newscast, which had just begun.

"We begin tonight with Superman, who potentially saved hundreds of lives earlier today when he caught a plunging jumbo-jet whose engines had failed shortly after takeoff from Metropolis International." The anchorwoman continued to describe the heroics as the picture changed to some shaky footage of the incident, the massive red-and-white airplane veering toward the ground, then straightening out and coming to rest in a field as a small figure appeared beneath it.

"Nice save, Clark," Lex said to the television, raising his glass. "Way to go." He took a sip of whisky and waited patiently for the campaign coverage to begin, and eventually it did, with a story on the mounting pressure on the President over the revelations brought to light by the Daily Planet's top two reporters. Impeachment was even being whispered about in some quarters, the newscaster informed. "Good luck with that," said Lex.

He switched off the set and walked to the window. It looked out over all of Smallville, as he was in the penthouse of the town's tallest building. He took it all in, his town. Voices could be heard in the hallway, then there was a knock at the door before it opened and she came in, Lois.

"Hello there," he said.

"Hello yourself." She shut the door and hung up her coat. "I remember this suite."

"Well, I hope so." he said, working up his best smirk for her. "Now come here, you muffin-peddling college dropout."

---------

Afterward, when she had gone and he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, he thought about it. Oh, it was risky, this affair--but, if anything got out into the press he'd just say it was a cheap attempt to smear him. The press was easily cowed, anyways, and the reporters most likely to find the proof that would really hurt him would be the least likely to use it--he chuckled at that. Would Chloe drag her cousin through the mud for a juicy story? That would be an interesting dilemma for her to chew over.

Ah, Lois... She was unfocused, sardonic, resigned to her fate in this backwater. She reminded him of his past; in some ways she _was_ Smallville to him, and sleeping with her was like sleeping with the town. He rolled onto his side and went to sleep, as satisfied as he ever was.

---------

President Lex Luthor finished off his drink, and put down the glass. Lois Lane; he had called her two weeks ago to offer his sympathies on the death of her sister Lucy, whose bullet-riddled body had been pulled out of the harbor in Marseilles. The sisters had not been close for some time, but Lois was broken up; she had no family left now save Chloe. General Lane had been Chairman of the Joint Chiefs during Lex's first term, before dying of a heart attack.

Lex looked at the photo again. What had happened to him? He had made a conscious decision to focus on amassing all the power there was, at whatever the cost--that would keep him from getting hurt. Well, it had worked to a certain extent. He _could_ protect the people he cared about. But he felt more and more that he had taken the wrong lesson away from that strangely vivid dream he'd had in the hospital on December 24, 2005.


	4. Ace Reporter

**The Best Men Don't Run For President, They Run For Their Lives**

Lex had turned his chair around and was staring out the window at the garden, where a spring rain was falling. He drummed his fingers restlessly on the arm of the chair for a minute or so, then abruptly spun back around and looked at the telephone. He had the numbers to the private lines of all sorts of interesting people at his disposal; he thought for a moment, then pulled a book out of a drawer. He flipped through it until he found what he wanted, then he picked up the handset and dialed. Ring. Ring. Then:

"Sullivan-Kent." A familiar voice, with perhaps a hint of perturbation not to know who was calling--the identity of calls coming from the White House was blocked, of course. 'Sullivan-Kent', as double-barrelled names went, it had a nice ring to it. He didn't say anything.

Annoyed, she added, "Hello? Well, who is it, what do you want?" Hanging up would be a bit childish, not at all befitting the chief executive. But did he really feel like a bout of 'verbal judo'? He decided that he did.

"Hello, Chloe." he murmured in the most dulcet tones he could manage. There was a moment of silence, then:

"Hello, Mr. President," she said, cool as anything. "I'm recording this call, of course, just so you know."

"Chloe, you're too good a reporter not to know that anything I say to you will be 'off the record'."

"Oh, naturally. Still, the very fact that you're calling is newsworthy."

"What's newsworthy about the President calling to talk to an old friend?"

"We're nothing even remotely close to friends, Lex," she said bluntly. True enough, he supposed. "Now, as I asked before when you were just wordlessly breathing into the phone like a lunatic, what do you want? I know I'm busy, and if _you_ aren't, you should be."

Hm, what _did_ he want? Off the top of his head, he threw out, "I just wanted to see if you'd be available for a one-on-one sit-down interview, at the White House. I'm trying to make myself more accessible to the public, through the media." Actually, he was generally trying to make himself even less accessible, where possible. Still, it might be fun.

She stalled, sensing a trick. "Don't you have a press secretary for this? Or is that a sore subject--was he one of the ones indicted? I forget." Ha ha--a decent jibe. Lex had recently had to sacrifice a couple of underlings to keep himself clean. It was really their own fault for being so naive.

"No, I still have one, but people usually appreciate the personal touch, I find. Come on, Chloe--no topic will be off-limits. It's a chance for you to really hold my feet to the fire." A rare chance--he hadn't talked to her in her professional capacity for years, with good reason.

"And you get plaudits for sitting down with me and answering the tough questions. Is that it, or is there more to it, some darker purpose?"

"You're getting as bad as your husband, Chloe. I'm not an ogre. I'm just a hard-working public servant doing the best he can."

She snorted at that, then said "Okay, fine--when?" It was too juicy an opportunity--she'd thrown caution away.

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"What! Impossible--I need more time to prepare, plus there's other--"

He cut her off. "You're the best reporter in the country, I'm sure you'll do fine on short notice. Someone will call you later with the exact time. I'm looking forward to seeing you, Chloe. Until tomorrow." He hung up quickly, giving her no chance to respond. He didn't even know what he had scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, but he'd move heaven and earth to fit this in if he had to. The question was, did he still have what it took to match wits with her? Either way, it would be amusing. It always was...

---------

Governor Lex Luthor looked out over the crowd of reporters gathered for this impromptu press conference in the lobby of the state legislature, and there she was, for the first time--how nice. They'd never come into direct contact until now; the Planet had kept her on other assignments. He wouldn't duck her, that wasn't his style, but he called on a couple of other people first, and decisively answered their limp questions about this latest sweeping initiative from the Governor's office. Then the moment came.

"Yes, Miss Sullivan?" He gave her a charming smile, which she returned.

"Governor Luthor, isn't it true that this project..." She went on to point out several irregularities that he could have sworn no one would be able to pick out from the tangled web he'd woven A shame she'd noticed, then, but hardly fatal.

"Well, Miss Sullivan, it's a very complicated issue. You see, the economy of Kansas relies heavily on..." He put them to sleep with a long and incomprehensible mix of statistics and jargon. This sort of bafflegab was more than good enough for the rest of them, but she was having none of it.

"You haven't answered my question, Governor, so I'll ask you again--why does the lion's share of the funding go towards..." Her eyes gleamed as she put the needle in--she was a predator who smelled blood.

The cameras were rolling; the usually-dozy press corps had their notebooks at the ready, sensing something. But he was Lex Luthor, and as good as Chloe was, he felt he could hold her off. A little leadership was all that was called for here.

"Because I felt it was necessary--I used my judgment and my discretion as Governor, which the people of Kansas put their trust in me to use as I see fit. It's the right call, and I stand by it." Stern stuff; but that's what people liked in their leaders--authority. "Now, next question?" He looked at the pack, but no one had their hand up, save one. What were they playing at? He nodded reluctantly at her.

"Follow-up question, Governor: why did you then personally, and I have sworn affidavits to this effect, order Kansas National Guard material and personnel into LuthorCorp facilities for a series of quasi-scientific experiments, which resulted in the deaths of..." She read a list of names and then stared expectantly at him without a hint of triumph on her face. The trap had swung shut. Tiny beads of sweat were forming on his brow. He now fervently wished the Planet had moved her to the city beat, or made her a foreign correspondent in a distant land.

"That..now, that is outrageous. I have no knowledge of these abuses, but if the allegations have any merit, which I doubt, I promise a full investigation." An aide hurriedly announced "No more questions!" Lex gave the press and the cameras a wan smile, and Chloe...Chloe _winked_ at him, he could've sworn. He retreated back down the hallway, leaving them baying in his wake. It was supposed to be just another humdrum question-and-answer session in Topeka like dozens of others, but in a few quick thrusts she'd torn himapart and left the guts of his political life spilling out onto the floor. He dazedly made his way to his office, where he lay down on the couch. Lana isn't going to like this, he thought.

--------

It had seemed worse than it was, at the time--he'd been over-dramatizing. He wasn't finished, though of course Chloe _did_ have the goods on him, which were spread all over the Planet for weeks afterwards. A less-ruthless Governor would have been toppled, but he'd bullied and bribed enough key men and women to hang onto power until the next election. Which he'd won--the Luthor political machine was unbeatable in Kansas; it could elect a ham sandwich Governor. The serious damage had been done to his loftier aspirations--he and his advisors had no real choice but to put off his run for the Presidency another four years.

Chloe Sullivan: star reporter for the Daily Planet and the love of Clark Kent's life. So different from her dissolute cousin, but anyone could tell early on, from their time in Smallville, which one was bound for greatness, and which one, obscurity. He felt a rare _frisson_ at the thought of going toe-to-toe with her tomorrow--he felt alive.


	5. Hot Streak

**The Best Men Don't Run For President, They Run For Their Lives**

Moments after he'd hung up on his conversation with Chloe, the phone rang. Lex answered it and was told by his secretary that Senator Burke was urgently requesting to speak with him--put him through, said Lex. The senior Senator from Nevada was an ally of his, and sat on the important intelligence and military committees.

"What's up in the Silver State, Paul?" he asked genially.

"There may be some trouble at one of our installations in the desert, Mr President." He sounded nervous. Nevada was a big and mostly empty state, in which the government had been doing funny things in secret for decades. Lex had continued that trend--the Nevada desert was like one huge Level Three to him.

"Tell me." There were procedures in place if anything got out of hand--all eventualities were covered.

"_Meridian_ has been compromised, we think. And there's been a panic--the troops have had to quarantine the area.." It sounded as if the panic had spread to the Senator, whose voice was rising.

"Paul--just...hold your water, all right?" Ah, germ warfare. He'd inherited that program when he'd taken office, and had come close to shutting it down. but he couldn't quite do it. It was his nature to encourage scientists who were doing terrifying things in a secret laboratory, not disband them.

Lex said into the phone, "No one can get away from that facility, so there's nothing to worry about. Right?"

Right. And if there was something to worry about in Nevada, and the population centers were threatened, surely Superman would appear on the scene, he thought. The great hero was not unfamiliar with that part of the country...

---------

Kansas State Senator Lex Luthor was in Las Vegas, of all places, one winter weekend. He had come to attend the grand re-opening of Caesar's Palace--now under new management. His father, with whom he had become slightly closer of late, had quietly put the financing together and purchased it--just like that, LuthorCorp was suddenly in the hotel/casino business.

He'd asked Lionel why, and received a typically opaque answer: "It's our kind of city, Lex--why shouldn't we own a piece of it?." The old man then added with a dark chuckle, "You don't have to worry, son; I'm not going 'Howard Hughes' on you." That _had_ been Lex's first thought--when an aging tycoon buys a Vegas casino, alarm bells tend to go off. Just as long as he doesn't move into the penthouse and stop cutting his toenails, Lex said to himself as he circled the casino floor. A malevolent Lionel Luthor is preferable to an insane one.

Gambling had never held much interest for him--actually to be more accurate, it was wagering that bored him. He hadn't placed a bet since he successfully backed the Crows to win the state championship--the late Mikhail Mxzyptlk had gotten that one all wrong. In the gaming area, he ambled past a craps table where a group of young men were hollering wildly--evidently the dice were running in their favor. One of them stepped away from the table, unobserved by the others, and stepped into Lex's path. It was Clark Kent, not looking especially happy to see him.

Lex's jaw dropped a little. This wasn't right at all--finding Clark betting on dice in a glitzy casino was like...it would be like coming across Lana shopping in a Wal-Mart. He tried to compose himself.

"Lex," said Clark. "I wondered if you'd be here."

"Did you? What are you doing here, Clark?"

He gestured toward the craps table. "Bachelor party. For a friend from college. We're here for the weekend--they wanted to see Caesar's, so..." He trailed off.

Lex searched for something to say. "Are you...er, having any luck?"

"I'm up two hundred bucks."

Lex responded with a bit of a smile, "Well, you should walk away from the tables, then--lock in those winnings. The house's advantage will break you in the long run."

Clark said, "Don't let your dad hear you tell people that--he is the house, now."

"He always has been." The table cheered as the shooter rolled another seven. "You're not staying here?"

"No--at the Imperial Palace."

"Ah." Lex thought of something. "You know, if you like, I could get you and your friends tickets to the big fight.." The welterweight championship was being fought over tonight in the hotel's twelve-thousand-seat auditorium as part of the festivities. Having made the offer, Lex, in his tuxedo, suddenly felt like an unctuous pit boss dangling comps in front of an important player. It felt distasteful.

Clark shrugged and mumbled something noncommittal--he seemed reluctant to accept a favor from Lex.

"Well, it was just a thought. Anyways, I've got a function to get to. I'm staying in the hotel--you can reach me through the front desk." He turned to go, then added over his shoulder, "Have a lucky day, Clark." Clark nodded and returned to the table. Lex walked away from the tables and past a bank of slot machines--a fat man with a plastic pail full of quarters barged into him and growled, "Watch it, baldy."

--------

After a long, pointless afternoon and evening, Lex got a call from Clark late that night. They agreed to meet in the coffee shop of Clark's hotel--open twenty-hours. It was about half-full at that time of the night. Clark was there sipping coffee when Lex arrived and sat down.

"Hello, Clark."

"I hope I haven't pulled you away from anything."

"No, not at all. So, I suppose you needed a break from all that bachelor partying?" he asked.

"Yeah. Everyone's drunk, and loud, and--you know, I don't think Las Vegas is my kind of place." You might enjoy it more if _you_ were drunk, Lex thought. But I don't even think alcohol affects you, does it?

Out loud, he replied, "No, I don't imagine that it is. Compared to Smallville, it must be like _another planet_ to you." Did Clark flinch ever-so-slightly at that? Lex couldn't quite tell--he'd had a few drinks himself..

"Uh, yeah, it's quite a contrast. So, how was the fight?"

"Over before it began; a first-round knock-out. Very disappointing."

"Sorry to hear that."

Lex took off his jacket, and said, "I wonder if, perhaps, your return here has dredged up any unhappy memories for you."

Clark stared at him. Then: "You mean Alicia. It isn't really an 'unhappy memory', but yes, she's what I first thought of when I arrived. I got up early this morning while everyone was still recuperating and went to look at the chapel and hotel we went to--they look worse than I remembered. They're run-down dumps, way north of here on Las Vegas Boulevard. "

The waitress arrived and asked them what they wanted. Lex was hungry and ordered steak and eggs (late-night special: $3.99); Clark was not.

"That certainly was out of character for you, eloping off to Vegas. Not like you at all." Lex had talked to Clark about it around the time it happened, but he'd provided few details, and Lex was still interested.

Clark said, "Yeah--it was a strange time for me," and looked uncomfortable. He changed the subject with, "So, why in the world did your father buy a casino?"

Airily, Lex replied, "Couldn't tell you--his reasons are his own. He keeps himself to himself." A glass shattered across the room, after being knocked off a table. Lex returned to what he was interested in. "Yes, Alicia--I can imagine how she would prey on your mind here in Las Vegas."

"How's that?"

"Well, she was the one you couldn't save, wasn't she? Lana, Chloe, your parents, even me--you always got there in time when we were in danger. But you couldn't get to her."

"Lex--"

"And it must really have hurt to have lost her to such a...well, a nothing, really. A 'moral-values' fanatic who has the amazing ability to turn himself into a cloud of dust? You and Chloe beat tougher meteor freaks than him between breakfast and lunch--most of the time."

Clark said, "It was never that easy. What's your point--why are you bringing this stuff up?"

"You called me--said you were bored and wanted to talk, remember? Now as I recall, Alicia was being framed by that 'arch-villain'--she was being set up to look like she'd relapsed into madness. But she hadn't, had she--she really was all better, as she claimed."

"Yes, she was," and Clark looked down as he said this.

"You believed the frame-up, didn't you--you turned on her; was that why she was alone? It's hard to fathom--you stopped the guy who could turn _other _people into dust, but you lost your wife to some _clown_. How on earth did you let that happen?"

Clark stood up, snarled "Go to hell, Lex," and stalked away and out of the restaurant. Lex waited for his food to arrive. That hadn't been very nice, he thought, a little surprised at his own behavior. I must really have some deep-seated ill-will towards Clark.

---------

Lex had never been back to Las Vegas. He had never found out exactly why his father had bought that casino, either, and he had sold it when Lionel died. Perhaps it had just been an investment--not everything his father had done was part of some fiendish plot.

Burke was still going, on the telephone. A good man, but a little twitchy. Lex interrupted him, "Just follow the procedures in place and things will be fine. Call me later when you have more details on what happened." He hung up, leaving the Senator spluttering.

If you suddenly decided you needed germ warfare, you had to have a program already running--that was how Lex had justified keeping the project open. And having made the decision, he had put his own spin on it; and suggested they bring Kryptonite into their research.

Lex stood up and walked to the door. He felt like stretching his legs.


	6. Domestic Espionage

Notes: This chapter certified 100 flashback-free. (JS) 

--------

**The Best Men Don't Run For President, They Run For Their Lives**

Lex made his way through the corridors of the White House to the private office where he did most of his real work, a small nondescript room at the end of a hallway. He unlocked the door and entered, shutting it behind him, leaving an aide and two agents posted outside. He sat down at the always-running computer and looked at a list of the surveillance files that had been routed here. Lex had a network of people within the CIA and FBI whose first loyalty was to the White House, and they were excellent snoopers. He opened a file from yesterday, putting on a pair of headphones to listen to it. He skipped ahead through some footage of an empty room, then he slowed it down and watched the screen as the door opened and two people entered an apartment that was completely wired for sound and video. There was some chit-chat between them about what to order in for dinner, as they put their things away, then:

"Our piece on government misappropriation runs tomorrow--it came out well. I don't think you saw the final draft," said Clark.

"Good, glad to hear it. In a perfect world, that article would drop Lex in scalding-hot water," replied Chloe. "Although in this one he'll find a way to lower the temperature, I'm sure."

"'You cannot stop Lex Luthor; you can only hope to contain him,'" Clark intoned mock-gravely, getting a laugh from Chloe, and a smile from Lex.

Chloe went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine, while Clark telephoned out for Chinese food. When he was done, he continued on the same topic.

"You know, I was thinking today--Lex hasn't really been as bad of a President as I feared." That's the nicest thing Clark's said about me in years, thought Lex.. "I mean, as President he's everything he was in Smallville, only more so--manipulative, ruthless, secretive." Secretive? That's rich, coming from you. "But his abuses of power have been pretty small-time, haven't they?"

"I guess so--he hasn't instituted martial law or caused a nuclear war or anything." said Chloe. They went through into the living room and sat down on the sofa. The apartment was a tidy, unpretentious one-bedroom in the heart of the city, close to the Daily Planet and the LuthorCorp building.

She continued, "There are plenty of weird, off-the-books, projects going on, some crooked deals here, some dirty tricks there, and he's broken no end of laws against domestic surveillance..." Lex snorted at the irony. They thought they were free from bugs, what with Clark's periodic scanning of the apartment, but the devices had been designed to be undetectable to him; they were disguised as nails and wires and other things one would expect to see in the walls--assuming one had the ability to look through them. "...but the economy's booming, and his foreign policy's been undeniably successful." How nice of you to say so, Chloe.

Clark nodded. "Really, he's been no worse than someone like Nixon."

"Or Harding--he was quite a weasel." Hm--now this was starting to sting a little bit, being lumped in with U.S. history's greatest failures.

"Or...who was the one that killed someone in a duel while in office?"

"That was Burr, and he was only Vice-President--how could I have married a man who didn't know that?"

He grinned. "Cut me some slack--I'm not from around here, remember? How many Presidents of Krypton can _you_ name?" Heh--nice comeback, Clark. Half the reason he spied on them was for the banter, though it reminded him of something he lacked.

Chloe laughed. "Exactly zero. But I didn't have to pass Kryptonian history to graduate high school."

Clark returned to his subject. "Lex...I thought he'd be worse. More dangerous; more...well, just worse. The Kawatchee prophecy--I thought it meant that he would be my nemesis." Well, sorry to disappoint you, Clark--maybe I just don't have the time or energy to be a proper arch-enemy for you. Am I supposed to conjure up diabolical plots for you to foil just so you'll feel fulfilled?

"They were just paintings on a cave wall--you and he always did read too much into them."

"Maybe." You don't sound convinced, Clark. Neither am I, really.

"I know Lex isn't as bad as you are good--but how could he be?"

Clark shook his head. "That isn't what I'm saying. But maybe he's worse than we know--maybe there's stuff we're missing."

"We find out as much as we can. We can't do more than that."

"I guess not." He looked pained for a moment, then shook his head slightly as if to dispel an unhappy thought. Then he looked out through the sliding glass door that opened on to a small balcony. He assumed a shocked expression and said, "Wow, Chloe, look at that!" She turned, startled, and he darted beside her and began kissing her neck. She giggled, realizing she'd been had, said, "That's so _lame_," turned and put her arms around him, pulling him down--and at that point Lex stopped the playback.

He took off his headphones. There was spying on Clark and Chloe, and then there was _spying_. Or peeping, if you like. They were entitled to some privacy, after all, though it was Lex who would decide how much that was.

He looked at his watch. Lana will be at the hotel in Los Angeles now, he thought--time for some adorable banter with my own wife. He picked up the phone and dialed. Her assistant came on, followed shortly by the First Lady.

"Lex? What is it--is something wrong?"

"No, everything's fine. I just wanted to hear your voice."

She seemed incredulous. "Lex, I don't have time for this..."

"You've got places to go and people to see, I know."

"That's right. I'm out here on your behalf, working to maintain your popularity and effectiveness. Keep that in mind."

"Well, you'll be pleased to hear that I've taken steps to improve my own image--I've invited Chloe Sullivan-Kent over tomorrow for a no-holds-barred interview."

Stunned silence. "You what--"

"Like it or not, the media's our conduit to the people, and Chloe's tough but fair. Best way to defuse a problem is to meet it head on, right?"

"Are you deranged?"

"Am I having a 'psychotic break', do you mean? Lana, that's a low blow." That term had always amused him. 'I'll return to sanity right after this psychotic break,' he imagined himself saying.

"Lex--you--I demand--" She seemed to be choking on her own rage. Lex broke in.

"Oh, and there's a situation brewing in Nevada I'm keeping an eye on--it _should _be okay, but you may have to fly back to D.C. sooner than expected. I'll keep you posted."

"Out of the question--there's too much to do here." She was suddenly back in command. "Now, what I need you to do is--"

"Sorry, what did you say, Lana? You're breaking up, I can't hear you--the White House is going through a tunnel." He hung up, laughing quietly.

One or two of Lana's personal effects had micro-transmitters in them; he quickly put the headphones back on and switched to a live feed to see if he'd provoked her into saying anything of note.

He heard her raging at her assistant when he tuned in. "...invited Chloe Sullivan into the White House--unbelievable,"

"Yes, Mrs. Luthor, it certainly is."

"He knows how I'll feel about this, too--doesn't he care?" She sounded hurt. No, no--I never stopped caring, Lex thought.

Lana continued, "Go away, will you--I need to think." Lex heard a door shut, and then nothing for a couple minutes. Listening to someone think wasn't very stimulating, and he was about to switch off when he heard her speak.

"Hello. I need to speak with Mr. Randall." Evidently she was placing a phone call. A pause. "Of course he is--tell him that Lisa Ryder needs to speak with him." Another, longer, pause, as this information was presumably relayed.

Lex grimaced, as he knew entirely too much about this 'Mr. Randall'-- Ian to his friends, if there were any. He known about this for some time, and he couldn't be too angry at Lana's infidelity, considering his own track record, but her choice of lover appalled him. Smallville's Ian Randall, who could divide himself in two at will, who had tried to drop both Chloe and Lana off a bridge, and who had been in Belle Reve at the same time as Lex himself. It beggared belief.

"Hello, darling," she said. Pity he couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but Lana's phone had a scrambler that made it secure, and Randall was the sort of shadowy character who would take similar precautions.

"I'm thinking about you, too. I wish we could see each other more often." Randall ran some sort of ill-defined business in Metropolis--he billed himself as a consultant, though it was hard to find out whom he consulted for. Lex unbuttoned his shirt--the heating in this office was erratic and had kicked into overdrive.

"Oh, you," she said, and giggled. Come on, Lana--please tell me you're manipulating this jerk. I can't bear to hear much more cooing and simpering.

"Are you sure your phone is free of bugs? Yes, mine is too--besides, Lex trusts me." She didn't believe that, did she?

"That thing we talked about before, that favor you were going to do for me--yes, her. I know, but you've done it before--you're _good_ at it. I need it done now." Was this what it sounded like? Randall had been a cold-blooded killer in Smallville--Belle Reve had earmarked him as a classic sociopath. How had he gotten out, and fallen off Lex's radar? That had been sloppy.

"Because I say so. There's no limit to what we can do together, darling, but you have to do this for me. I don't understand your reluctance--you tried to do it before, and in the unlikely event that anyone connects you with it, you'll have an ironclad alibi." Oh, no. No, no, no. This couldn't be allowed to happen. For one thing, Clark would almost certainly blame him for it--and might well kill him.

"Do it. Do it _tonight_."

---------

Notes: I took the line "The house is going through a tunnel" from an episode of _Gilmore Girls_.


End file.
